


Falling For You

by wendymr



Series: Whither You Go [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Busman's holiday, M/M, Other British telly references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:49:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5147504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to entertain James Hathaway on holiday...</p><p>  <i>“Punch and Judy on the beach?” James suggests. “Bingo down the Legion? Pub quiz?”</i></p><p>  <i>Robbie rolls his eyes. “Culture does exist outside Oxford, soft lad. Outside London, an’ all.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Willowbrooke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowbrooke/gifts).



> At the end of [If You Go](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3608919), James and Robbie decided to go away for a weekend together. This is that weekend.
> 
> A very, _very_ belated birthday fic for Willowbrooke - sorry it took so long! Huge thanks and appreciation to Owlbsurfinbird for very helpful BRing.

In the end, they go to Hastings. James has been watching _Foyle’s War_ , filmed in the area, and he also argues that it’s less well-travelled than Brighton, Worthing and other coastal parts of East and West Sussex and Hampshire. 

Robbie has watched a couple of episodes with James and enjoys the somewhat sanitised presentation of policing during World War II, though what amuses him more is that he can always tell whenever James has been watching it himself; his use of _sir_ increases significantly for a day or two, and he stands straighter and more formally than usual. He can’t help imagining this James wearing a trilby, raising it in polite greeting as they walk around the city.

Hastings’ seafront may be a bit faded these days, but to James that’s part of the appeal — and there are definitely decent pubs. Plenty of walking, as well, and some spectacular views — as good, if not better, as they would get in the South Downs. Since Robbie doesn’t particularly care where they go, as long as they get away together and have a decent break and a chance to get things back to normal between them after their misunderstanding over his talk of retirement, he’s happy to agree, especially after James finds a B&B with excellent reviews. Two large rooms have been booked — James insists that single beds should be considered unsuitable for any adult taller than average height — and they’re looking forward to the two nights away.

“Don’t imagine you’re going to see pretty young things in army uniforms saluting you an’ driving you around,” Robbie mocks as they make their way south-east towards the M25.

“As I imagine you’re aware, sir, I’m not especially interested in _pretty young things_ ,” James retorts. 

Robbie raises an eyebrow, but opts not to comment. As always on the rare occasions James discloses some nugget of personal information, it’s best to receive it as if it’s entirely non-noteworthy. But he’s intrigued. _Pretty young things_ referencing young women only? Or is James saying he’s not interested in attractive young men either? Does he prefer older women — or men? Or that he’s not interested in any of the above?

James leans forward, a decisive movement, and switches on the radio, spending several seconds fiddling with the tuning button before finding a station he’s happy with. Of course, it’s not eighties rock or opera, either of which Robbie would have enjoyed. Something weird, probably played with instruments Robbie’s never heard of. But it’s not offensive, and he can put up with it for an hour or so. Besides, he’s well aware that James didn’t turn the radio on just because he wants to listen to music.

* * *

Once they’re south of London and off the M25, it’s all A–roads to Hastings, through Sevenoaks and skirting Tunbridge Wells – _Royal_ Tunbridge Wells, James points out, and asks if Robbie fancies taking the waters. “Only waters I’m interested in is a pint at the nearest decent pub once we get there. You’re buyin’, by the way.”

James quirks an eyebrow. “Thought we were on holiday. Normal pub rules shouldn’t apply.”

“I was going to pay for dinner,” Robbie points out. “But if you’d prefer the other way around...”

James reaches for his phone. “I’ll take a look on TripAdvisor, in that case. French cuisine, since we’re in waving distance of Boulogne?”

Robbie snorts. “We’re at the seaside. You’ll have fish an’ chips and like it.”

He gets a roll of the eyes for his trouble, but there’s a betraying smile tugging at the corner of James’s lips.

It’s going to be a good weekend, Robbie thinks. All the better for the knowledge that he might never have had James’s company in any context again. His stupid misunderstanding of James’s statement had almost resulted in the two of them parting company permanently, with James not even talking to him. Though this weekend, and possibly others in the future, wouldn’t be happening if not for the misunderstanding. As Val would’ve said, every cloud and all that. 

And the silver lining here isn’t just the extension of their strong working relationship into their personal lives. He’d been brought to a sharp realisation of James’s importance to him, hadn’t he? And the same for James... though it’s entirely possible that James had been far ahead of him in realising that.

James hasn’t been just his sergeant all this time; far from it. He’s become the closest mate Robbie’s had in years, and there’s no way he’s going to risk losing this relationship again. Or not recognising what he’s got in the bloke sitting next to him.

The weird–music station’s starting to fade in and out, and James reaches for the dial again. “Find something local,” Robbie says. “Might be somethin’ interesting happening while we’re here.”

“Punch and Judy on the beach?” James suggests. “Bingo down the Legion? Pub quiz?”

Robbie rolls his eyes. “Culture does exist outside Oxford, soft lad. Outside London, an’ all.”

“Of course, sir,” James replies, tone dry as dust. He gestures to the radio, where the DJ has just advertised a Second World War–themed scavenger hunt taking place this evening.

Robbie grins. “Would’ve thought you’d be all over that, with your interest in wartime Hastings.” James gives him a dagger-like glare, and Robbie’s grin grows wider.

They’re about to turn off the A21 for the town centre when a news item catches Robbie’s attention. _East Sussex police are now saying the disappearance of a local woman two days ago may be suspicious, and they do not believe that she left Hastings, as was previously thought. The police are asking people to be on the lookout for Paula Stewart, aged forty–seven, five feet five with light brown hair and hazel eyes, and last seen wearing a blue raincoat, navy skirt and black shoes._

“Can’t get away from it, eh, sir?” James says, a rueful note in his voice.

Robbie shrugs as he takes the turning as indicated by the GPS that will take them to their B&B, in the middle of Hastings Old Town and close to the sea–front. According to James, they were lucky to get this one; it only has four rooms, and only two of them have double beds. He’d been fortunate enough, it being off–season, to get both double rooms. It’s a bit old–fashioned, he’d said, but the location definitely outweighed ambience. 

“Not our case,” Robbie points out as he looks for a parking space. “Not even our force. Can’t help wondering why it took them two days to decide it was suspicious, though.”

“And you would appreciate it, sir, if a couple of coppers from another force wandered into your neck of the woods and criticised your handling of a case?” James comments, the sarky tone barely hidden.

“Not criticisin’ to their face, am I?” Robbie points out as he pulls into a space. “Come on. Sooner we’re checked in, sooner we can find the nearest pub. I’m parched.”

* * *

There’s a nip in the air, along with the astringent scent of salt, as they walk back to their B&B later that night. James, who’d normally be hunched over against the breeze, is standing straight and looking around him with interest, despite the limited field of vision provided by the street–lamps. Because of his interest in this town, thanks to a telly program? Nah, that’s not James. He’s not a... what did Lyn call it when she was talking about those mates of hers who were really into Doctor Who? Fanboy? 

No, has to be that he’s just enjoying being on holiday. He’s been properly relaxed all evening, really, chatting amiably in between smartarse remarks and outright cheek. 

It’s been a smashing evening, actually. The pub they’d landed up in had a live music session, something that’s apparently common in Hastings – recently voted the most musical town in the UK, according to some university mag, or so James had informed him. So much for the bloke mocking local activities. Robbie’s absolutely certain James has been aware of this all along, and that he’d chosen the pub for that precise reason. 

James is generally good company anyway for a drink or a meal, whether it’s work–related or winding down after the stresses of a case. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s also relaxing, entertaining company off–duty entirely. Or that Robbie can’t really imagine going away on his own again if James is available to come with him. Sure, he’s going to Italy with Lyn soon, but that’s not something that’s likely to happen again in the foreseeable future, not with the baby on the way. 

“Enjoyin’ the sea air? I’ll expect to see you up at dawn for a swim, then,” Robbie gently mocks. 

“If you’re up then, you can join me, sir.” In the light of a convenient street–lamp, Robbie can see a single raised eyebrow slanting James’s forehead.

Abruptly, it strikes him as ridiculous., the _sir_. They’re on holiday. Two mates spending time together, that’s how he’s thought of this weekend in his mind. Same for any future holidays away. “Robbie,” he corrects.

And he gets his reward immediately, in the shape of a slow, genuine smile before James forms the name himself. “Robbie.”

A plan for the morning’s decided as they walk up the stairs to the third floor together, and then James gives Robbie’s elbow a light squeeze as they reach the bedrooms, situated opposite each other. “Goodnight, Robbie. Sleep well.”

“You too,” Robbie answers, but James is already letting himself into his room.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, James has the following day all planned out. A walk around the Old Town, followed by a stroll along the promenade and lunch somewhere in that vicinity. Fish and chips, Robbie instantly specifies, seeing as they ate in the pub last night. And then in the afternoon they’ll walk to the ruined castle. According to James, they also have to take one of the cliff railways, just for the experience.

“You never been on a funicular before, man?” Robbie asks as they have breakfast. 

James only shrugs. Robbie wonders again about the bloke’s childhood as he mentally catalogues all the cliff railways he’s been on, either as a kid, with his own kids or during the couple of Police Federation conferences he went to years ago, in Brighton and Bournemouth. Scarborough, Shipley, Wakefield, York; even some on the south coast when he and Val took the kids to Torbay and Cornwall.

“Well, we can take the west one up to the castle this afternoon, an’ then try the east side tomorrow morning before we leave,” he suggests, taking the last slice of toast from the rack since James seems to have no interest in eating it. “What?” He arches his eyebrows at James’s apparently-incredulous stare. “You think you’re the only one who’s read a tourist guide?”

James’s tourist guide is, of course, on his phone, which Robbie should have expected. Not that the bloke needs to consult it too often as they stroll around the old town and he points to buildings and locations of varied interest: played an important role in national defence during the war, supposed link to William the Conqueror and the Battle of Hastings, or used as a location in _Foyle’s War_.

“Course, some of the location filming wasn’t even in Hastings,” Robbie points out. “A lot of it was in Hertfordshire – Hemel Hempstead, would you believe? Not exactly the pride of the English south coast.”

“Look at you, sir! You’ve finally mastered Google!” James exclaims in a tone full of marvel. 

Robbie gestures to a house on the bend of Croft Road, barely holding back a smirk. “Want me to take your picture in front of Foyle’s house? You could make it your laptop wallpaper.”

James huffs. “Very funny.” He lengthens his stride. “Come on. St Clement’s church is just around the corner. As I’m certain you know, Robert–” He drawls the name. “–it traces its origins back to 1080 AD, only sixteen years after the Battle of Hastings–”

“Can add, y’know. I actually got an A–level in maths.”

“–though it was rebuilt three hundred years later,” James continues, as if Robbie hadn’t spoken. “It did sustain blast damage in the war, though.”

“I’m gonna fill in an application for you for one of those quiz shows,” Robbie says. “Once I find out which one’s got the most prize-money. No point havin’ a know-all for a mate if you can’t make use of him. I’d be your agent an’ charge fifty per cent of your winnings.”

James’s look of appalled indignation is entirely worth the extra effort Robbie has to make to keep up with the bloke’s abruptly lengthened stride.

* * *

They walk down to the Parade and find a decent fish and chip restaurant for lunch, and then walk along the promenade to the west cliff railway, the steepest funicular in the country. The view’s more than impressive once the tiny funicular carriage emerges from the tunnel and reaches the top, and it’s not only James who stops to look down and gaze out over the English Channel. 

It is James who, once they’ve strolled around the ruins of the castle, wants to walk back down to the Parade and along to the east hill lift. It’s barely four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time, and although Robbie hides a smile at the lad’s enthusiasm he refrains from teasing. About time the bloke got a chance to do the sort of things he must have missed out on as a kid. 

Robbie’s nattering on about taking the kids up the cliff lifts in Scarborough as they come off the lift at the top. “The view’s not as good as here – too many trees and bushes in the way – but they liked it. You could walk – zig–zag paths and steps all the way up. I bet them I could beat them once – y’know, me walking, them in the lift.”

“And did you?” James turns from admiring the view to smile at Robbie.

“Oh, yeah.” He grins. “Had an advantage, like. There was a queue for the lift and I knew they’d never make it into the first one. They’d have to wait for the one up top to come down. An’ I was fitter then – was in me thirties an’ I played rugby. So I jogged all the way up an’ was waiting for them at the top, eating an ice–cream.”

“You’re fit now, too.” James starts to follow the path along the cliff edge. “There aren’t many DIs who can chase down suspects like you do.”

Robbie shrugs. “Shouldn’t really be doing it at my level, but I’d be bored stupid if I had to spend all day in the office.”

James’s lips twitch. “If Innocent dares complain about wasting valuable resources, all you’d have to do is point to your arrest record.”

Robbie grins. “There is that.”

It’s a nice day, not too warm but not cold either, with just a bit of a breeze, and there aren’t too many people about. Just the right kind of day for a ramble along the cliff-top, Robbie thinks as he falls into step next to James and they chat about places they’ve been, and places they haven’t but would like to.

“I was vaguely aware you’d been to Australia, but I hadn’t realised the circumstances,” James says, sounding fascinated, after Robbie’s related an account of his assignment with Morse. “I rather assumed you must’ve gone to visit your son.”

Robbie rubs the back of his neck. “Aye, well, I should do, I know. It’s just–” He hesitates.

“Yes?” The encouraging note in James’s voice makes him sigh and continue.

“Australia’s a long way to go when you don’t know whether you’re gonna be welcome at the end of it.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t seen Mark since six months after Val died. I know he came home while I was away, and Lyn’s been out to see him, but... well, we talk on the phone an’ it just feels like we’re going through the motions, you know?” 

He walks in silence for several paces, James keeping step with him. “I was thinking of asking Lyn if she’d come out with me. At least then – well, I know he’d be happy to see her. And it’d be nice to have company to travel around a bit. But now with the baby on the way...”

A seagull whirls overhead, squawking, and then dives downward below the cliffs. James watches its flight for a while, and then turns to face Robbie, hands in his pocket and his eyebrows meeting in a frown. 

“I’m sure your son would love to see you. And... I know I’m not Lyn, or any kind of family or anything like that, but if you think having company would help you to make the journey...”

Robbie’s eyes widen. “You mean it? You’d come to Australia with me? Just so I’d see Mark?”

James shrugs, dipping his head and starting to turn his body away from Robbie, as he always does when he’s embarrassed about something. “It’s not as if I wouldn’t get something out of it. Never been to Australia.” He walks on slowly, dragging his feet through the grass close to the cliff, his entire body screaming awkwardness with the conversation.

“James–” Robbie begins, and then stops as James abruptly loses his footing and pitches forward sharply, falling towards the cliff edge. “James!”

* * *

Robbie rushes towards James, heart in his mouth as he reaches blindly, even as he’s watching James’s arms windmilling backwards in a frantic attempt to rebalance and prevent himself going over the cliff.

And he makes contact, slamming into James’s side and hooking his arms around the lad’s chest, pushing him to the side and down. As Robbie tumbles on top of James, he continues his momentum by twisting and rolling his body backwards, away from the cliff–edge, and bringing James with him.

They wind up sprawled in a heap on the grass, legs tangled, James mostly on top of Robbie. They’re so close he can feel the bloke’s racing heartbeat pounding against his own chest.

Christ, he hasn’t made a tackle like that since his rugby days, and he wouldn’t have believed he was still capable of either the speed or the instinctive decision. Thank fuck he is, or he might have lost James.

Still breathing heavily, his own heart pounding, he searches James’s face. “Are you all right? James, man, what happened?” 

James’s very blue eyes are wide with shock as he stares down at Robbie. “I’m fine – but what the _fuck_...?”

“Yeah, what happened?” Robbie grips James’s upper arms. “You don’t just lose your balance out of the blue. Not like that. Not you.”

James sets his hands on the ground either side of Robbie and pushes himself up, then backwards. Robbie’s hands fall away as James springs to his feet. “I didn’t lose my balance. The ground gave way under me.”

Before Robbie can ask what he means, James has whirled around and is studying the area where he almost fell, keeping well back while feeling around in the grass with one pointed foot. And then, abruptly, he goes down on one knee and leans forward. “I knew it!”

“What?” Robbie peers down, but can’t see what James is looking at, beyond the fact that the edge of the cliff is a bit closer here than it is elsewhere along the path. Yet James hadn’t been walking that close to the edge, had he? “Erosion?” he suggests.

“Look here.” Robbie follows the direction of his finger, out to the edge of the cliff. It’s been damaged recently, as if there’s been a fall. The grass close to the edge is flattened and torn out in clumps, and there’s definitely been soil and gravel disturbed.

“And here,” James adds, indicating a little bit further back, closer to where they’re standing. “You’ll need to get down here.”

Robbie hunkers down and looks where James is pointing. “That looks like... Someone’s been cutting into the ground?”

“Mmm. A shovel or something. If my guess is right, someone’s been trying to make this area unstable. And it looks like it worked.” He waves a hand towards the damaged edge.

“We should notify someone,” Robbie’s saying, but James isn’t looking. He’s bounced back to his feet and moved a few feet sideways, and now he’s walking carefully out to the cliff edge. Robbie’s stomach churns. “What’re you doing?” The ground bloody well better be stable there.

“Hold onto my legs.” James drops down onto his stomach, and to Robbie’s horror immediately starts wriggling forward. Heart pounding, Robbie lowers himself to the ground and sits on the back of James’s calves, leaning forward to grip the bloke’s thighs as well.

“What’re you doing, man? You’ve nearly fallen once already!”

“In my pocket – give me my phone.” James is peering down at something only he can see.

“What the-?” But there’s no point arguing, and if James has found something... He leans forward, making sure that most of his weight is still on James’s legs, and fumbles inside James’s back jeans pocket. He manages to grip the phone, but the bloke insists on wearing such bloody tight jeans... Christ. He’s grabbing the phone, and at the same time groping the lad’s arse. “Sorry,” he mutters, feeling heat flush his face as he finally manages to free the device.

“Give it here.” James is reaching back, and Robbie hands over the phone with a sense of relief – which is instantly dashed as James leans over the cliff again. And what he’s doing Robbie has no idea. However, it doesn’t take long. Moments later, James starts wriggling backwards, and Robbie slides off his legs and grips James’s hand to pull him to stable ground.

“What was all that about?” Relief at seeing the lad safe and unhurt makes him raise his voice.

In answer, James holds out his phone, an image showing on the screen. At first, all Robbie can see is a splash of blue against grey shale and green clumps of grass, but then James uses his fingers to enlarge the photo. And there, lying on a rocky ledge about halfway down the cliff, is the body of a woman with mid–brown hair, wearing a blue coat and a navy skirt.

They’ve found Paula Stewart.

* * *

“Right busman’s holiday, this,” Robbie grumbles three hours later as they sit waiting in an interview room at Hastings Police Station – not, James complained, the one occupied by Christopher Foyle and his team, with solid wood furnishings, hat and coat stands and 1940s telephones. And they weren’t brought here by a uniformed driver, either, Robbie pointed out in response. James has been mumbling about making complaints.

They’ve been here since around an hour after calling the local police from the clifftop, and then explaining several times to the first officers on scene and then the DS who turned up exactly how they came to find the body.

Now, they’re officially “helping police with enquiries,” and – despite having identified themselves as off-duty police officers and proved that they were nowhere near Hastings when Paula Stewart went missing – they’ve been asked not to leave the town “just as a precaution”.

“Bet Innocent loved getting that phone call,” Robbie adds, pulling a face at James. “I ask for two days off for us, an’ promise faithfully to be back on Monday morning. Now she’s told we’re caught up in a suspicious death in another force’s jurisdiction.”

James’s lips twitch. “She’ll be wanting us to retract our retractions of our resignations.”

Robbie sobers at this reminder of how their partnership almost ended. “Hope you’re not wanting to?”

“Not a chance.” A sharp head-shake accompanies James’s denial. “If you go, I go... if you stay, I stay.” He leans back in his chair, tilting his head to the side, and Robbie knows what’s coming. He smiles inwardly, even as he gives James the expected long–suffering grimace. “While we’re waiting, sir, did you know that a pub really was bombed in this town during the war? And you’ll be horrified to hear that another raid destroyed the cricket ground, because the Germans had inaccurate maps and thought it was the harbour...”

 _Whither thou goest..._ It really is a pledge of loyalty Robbie had no idea he’d earned, and he’s not going to let James think it’s not valued ever again.

* * *

“Why it took them so long to make the link between _murderer used a garden spade_ and _her boyfriend’s a landscaper_ , I have no idea.” James shakes his head. “They call themselves detectives?”

They’re walking back to their B&B after a decent Indian meal, having finally been allowed to leave by the local police. Out of professional courtesy, or so the DS on duty explained, they’ve been briefed on selected aspects of the ongoing investigation, which is now considered murder rather than a disappearance or an accidental death.

“I can’t fathom why he’d go to all that trouble,” Robbie points out. “Why not just give her a shove? No chance of arguing it wasn’t premeditated.”

James smirks. “Clearly, we have a more intelligent class of murderers in Oxford.”

Robbie grins. “Standards have been slipping in Hastings since Foyle’s time.”

That just gets him a grunt. Robbie jogs his friend’s elbow. “Look on the bright side. At least Innocent’s not expecting us back first thing Monday. We don’t even have to drive back until Monday morning. Could stay another night here, or if you’ve had enough of Hastings–” He shrugs. “Didn’t you say you’d never been to Canterbury? Could drive up there tomorrow an’ stay the night. On one condition, mind.”

“Oh?” James quirks an eyebrow. 

“No quoting Chaucer all the way home. Do that an’ you’re walking!”

Inside the B&B, they wait behind a harried-looking couple to get their keys. After a few moments, the reason for the delay becomes apparent. The woman standing at the desk, suitcase by her feet, is unhappy. “That can’t be right. We booked this room weeks ago! I even have the confirmation on my phone. It’s my niece’s wedding tomorrow.”

An even less happy staff member is shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, madam. I really don’t know what went wrong, but all our rooms are booked. We only have two doubles anyway...”

Robbie’s glanced sideways at James, raising an eyebrow in question, before he’s even taken a second to think about it. But, really, why shouldn’t they? It’s hardly as if they’re strangers. They’ve been in gym changing rooms together more times than he can remember. Actually sharing a bed’s not quite the same thing, but it’d just be for one night. 

James frowns slightly, wordlessly asking a question in return. _You sure?_

Robbie nods, gaze still on James. _Long as you are_. 

After a final hint of a smile from James, Robbie steps forward. “Excuse me...”

* * *

“This is a nicer room than mine.” James’s tone is so typically smartarse that Robbie’s tempted to reach across the bed and jab the lad with his elbow.

“Should be grateful I agreed to let you share it, then.” Robbie leans up to switch off the bedside light. They exchange goodnights, and then there’s the now-unfamiliar sensation of another body rolling over in the bed to get comfortable. It’s a shock to Robbie, the realisation that he really has got used to sleeping alone – and the sudden reminder that he’s missed sharing his bed with another human being.

For a while, they’re lying side by side in silence, with the only sound the occasional slight gust of wind outside – and James’s breathing. In, out, in, out – normal, healthy, _alive_.

And now, of course, it’s obvious why he had no hesitation about offering to share this room, this bed, with James. He had no intention of letting James out of his sight.

“Almost lost you today.” The words emerge without thinking, in a ragged tone Robbie barely recognises. “You could’ve gone over that cliff, just like Paula Stewart. Smashed to death on the rocks down there.”

“It was a bloody close call.” James’s voice is low, hushed in the still darkness. “Told you you’re still fitter than most of the DIs in the nick. If you hadn’t reached me in time...” He doesn’t finish the sentence, and for the second time today Robbie’s head’s filled with an image he doesn’t want to contemplate.

Christ, he really could have lost James. And just when he’s only starting to realise how important the lad is to him, how much he’s come to depend on him. And how much he means to James in return.

“Never do that to me again.” 

The bed shifts as James rolls over, in doing so moving closer to Robbie, so close he can feel the heat generated by the bloke’s body. A warm hand lands on his arm, rubbing gently up and down. Comforting, warm... bloody _lovely_. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

Robbie lays his own hand over James’s, gripping tightly. “Wasn’t your fault. But just... when you lay down and leaned over the cliff... _Don’t_. Just don’t.”

“Robbie.” James shifts closer still. “I didn’t realise.”

“Shut up.” Neither of them needs to talk, not now. There’s only one thing that’s necessary right at this moment, and the only surprising thing about it is that it hadn’t occurred to him before now. 

Robbie surges up, leaning over James, and slides a hand along the side of the lad’s face and into his hair. In the very dim light that’s coming through the curtains from the outside street-lamp, he can see James is watching him, intent, waiting. 

_Are you sure?_ The unspoken question lies between them a second time. James’s slow smile is all the answer Robbie needs.

They’ll only need one room in Canterbury.

* * *


End file.
